


Mixing Business and Pleasure

by petroglyph



Category: X-Men (Movies)
Genre: Breathplay, F/F, Male POV, Masturbation, Mind Control, PWP, Snuff, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-05-12
Updated: 2003-05-12
Packaged: 2017-11-07 21:26:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/435620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/petroglyph/pseuds/petroglyph
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He likes watching his creations at work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mixing Business and Pleasure

He likes to watch, but he also likes to stay clean. It's not that he's any stranger to blood--he's seen more in combat than any pansy of a civilian could imagine--but the mutant stuff worries him. You never know what could be in it, or if it might turn out as toxic as the secretions of the dead creature he once called son. Better to stay safe, uncontaminated, and human.

The windows are more of a compromise than he'd like. They started out as one-way glass, so clear he almost felt he could reach through and touch them, but glass is fragile. Now there's a web of adamantium strands across the inside, deceptively like the plain steel chicken wire they use to reinforce windows elsewhere. He's safe, but the view is compromised. It's worth it, though, if it means fewer times that the window needs repair. He can't afford to receive many more questions from the gutless civilians upstairs. They don't know what they're dealing with. Only he understands the truth.

The ventilation grills between the rooms let noise through, faint but clear. He finds the sound of cracking knuckles strangely soothing, though he suspects, if he'd built her more carefully, she wouldn't have the need. It's something to consider for the next model, later, when he's in working mode. Now he's only the observer. It's her turn to show the abilities she'd been so carefully bred and built for.

When they wheel the other mutant in, he wonders, at first, if there will be much of a show. Her head lolls awkwardly to one side, its angle only a degree away from suggesting a broken neck, and her features lie slack, as though she were drugged. There's no need for her to be; her powers aren't directly dangerous, though he has no doubt there are myriad ways she could use them against humans if she were allowed to go free. That's why this is necessary.

There's a faint skritch as his Lady unsheathes her claws. He catches his breath, leaning forward in his chair until his nose almost touches the glass. She draws the blades across the leather bonds tying the mutant in place, and they part like smoke. It's enough to make the mutant's eyelids flicker open, hinting at more life than he'd suspected. She seems surprised to see one so obviously of her own kind in this place, and her lips part to ask a question. Claws retracted, his Lady silences her with a touch of a finger, and he licks his own lips in response.

She's peeling back the bonds now, and it's clear the mutant has gone from surprise to confusion. Her fingers clench as she tests her new-found freedom before swinging her legs over the side of the wheeled cot. His Lady stops her, pinning her in place with one hand on her chest. He can imagine the mutant's mouth parting into a "o" of bewilderment even as his Lady blocks his view by leaning over and kissing her. That's when his pulse rises, and things start to get fuzzy.

The mutant fights, flailing weakly with limbs thinned by weeks in captivity, and jerks her head back as his Lady finishes the kiss with a nip of her teeth and releases her. Distracted by the trickle of blood that graces both their faces, he barely notices the sound of her head hitting the hard mattress. One of his Lady's hands wipes the blood away from the mutant's face and licks it thoughtfully from her fingers while the other stiffens as her claws extend again. Before the mutant has a chance to react, she's shredded the thin hospital gown that clothes her from neck to waist. There's no blood on her claws, yet.

Claws snick in as his Lady leans forward for another kiss, this time drawing her lips faintly across the mutant's nipples. She drapes her forearm across the mutant's neck, pressing downward inexorably as the mutant struggles. The weight of adamantium and muscle combine to cut off air. At first the mutant's flailing intensifies as she gasps for breath, but gradually they cease. Satisfied, his Lady moves her arm away, tongue still sweeping slowly along the tips of the mutant's breasts.

Faint coughs as the mutant begins to breathe again turn ragged along the edges as his Lady's hand drop lower, trailing down the mutant's smooth stomach and reaching the edge of what remains of her gown. It rests there idly for a moment as she waits for a response from the mutant, but she's still too busy gathering her breath.

His Lady's hand slips beneath the fabric at last. He can't see quite what she's doing, but it draws a gasp from the mutant that rises above the steady background of her pitiful wheezes. His own hand slips, in mimicry, beneath the waistband of his pants while he fumbles at his fly with his other. There's a smudge against the glass where his nose has pressed too closely. Poor control. He frowns and leans back as his pants slide down at last, freeing his hardened cock.

Inside the windowed room, his Lady has slid her hands back up to the mutant's breasts, teasing. The gown has slipped further away, baring her to her knees. Another moan, and his Lady sends one hand down again to cup the mutant's mons while her teeth nibble, unexpectedly hard, at her nipple. There's blood again. He smiles.

There's a long, slow dance of fingers across the mutant's thighs and pelvis before his Lady finally slides a finger low enough to brush her clitoris. He's watching his Lady's hands, but she's watching the mutant's face. What she sees must please her, for she leaves her finger there, drawing it back and forth across the tender nub of flesh in a motion strangely gentle compared to the teeth marks on the mutant's breasts.

He breathes deeply and squeezes his own cock harder as the mutant jerks and trembles under his Lady's touch. It's almost time. The moans rise in pitch as his Lady's fingertips probe lightly at the opening to the mutant's cunt. One by one, they slip inside. Everything's still for a moment, except for the mutant's arching back.

His Lady raises her free hand towards the mutant's face, brushing at her lips before drawing it down her side. Claws extend halfway through the caress, turning it into a parody, and for the first time the mutant screams. Usually they're louder throughout, and the interruption at this late time jerks him out of his headspace. He stares at the blood running in shallow gashes down the mutant's chest and tightens his fingers rhythmically, willing himself to slip away again.

Screams fade into whimpers and rise up again as his Lady raises her hand for another stroke. He's inured to the noise now, and he barely notices it beside his own wheezes and the pounding of blood in his ears. The strokes are delicate, like a weaver's pass of a shuttle across a loom, and each leaves a new pattern of markings. The gown and mattress slowly deepen from pale hospital green to the brownish-red that he associates with righteousness.

There's not a lot left of the mutant, but she screams anyway when the second set of claws emerge within her cunt. It's more of a gurgle than a scream, really, as the tips of the claws reach high enough to puncture her lungs and heart. It's enough to send him slumping back in his chair, his hand and trousers drenched and sticky. There's blood on the window now anyway, splashed from the mutant's flailings, and it obscures his view.

He breathes in time with the bubbling of the mutant's blood-frothed breath, slowly coming back to himself. His Lady, commanded to have no such needs or desires for herself, is facing the window and the ventilation grid when he finally straightens, satisfied at another job well done.

"Go clean up," he tells her roughly. She dips her head in a nod as she turns, exposing the circular scar he's created. She'll need another dose, soon enough, but he's a mess himself. It will wait until he's had time to change.


End file.
